Vash couldn't help eventually developing a bit of a fernweh. That was just what happened, he figured, when one never stayed in one place for long. He learned to actually like it, somewhat.
He also found, that, if the dunes were stared at long enough, they almost started to look a bit... elysian, instead of the huge allocations of dust particles and grains of sand they really were, whose wind devils could suffocate even his hardy, more-than-human lungs, if he was stupid enough to get caught in one... which, he sometimes was. His tiny smirk was laced with some self-deprecation as he remembered the irritated rantings of a small woman, her distinct no-nonsense tones etched into his memory, probably for more decades than she would expect (if she knew). But, she didn't; and that was more his fault than anything. Why did he lead her on in the first place? Why did he remain so naïve and trusting?
Was that even what it was? Knives was aware of it, but then, that was Knives.
"Latching onto your little pets to this very morn, Brother?"
Pets. Companions, in the worse sense. We're more than them. You realize why you drag them around, don't you, Vash? Amusement, don't deny—
If he confessed, Millie would congratulate him, "I knew it all along, Mr. Stampede!"
Meryl—he had a pretty good feeling she was already perfectly fine with the idea, despite her... er, complaints, she was just waiting for him. If things kept going the way they were (Augusta, Nicholas' God, Augusta...), she'd never get an answer.
In the back of his mind somewhere, he knew what Rem would call it.
"'Ey, Cactus Cranium, you gonna stand there brooding all sun-blaze?" Vash's trademark cliché smile snapped onto his face from reflex as he was snapped out of his contemplations. He caught the unease that flickered across Wolfwood's knitting brow at the sudden change, like an unexpected breeze which was gone as soon as it had come. Instinct told the younger—much younger—man whenever an action was amiss, and Vash felt dismayed how often he could see the reaction in his best friend.
He didn't blame the priest. He terrified himself, too.
"Let's get movin'," Wolfwood, being the tausendsassa he was, took every bit of it in stride, commenting about his niggling thought of how he might've spotted a familiar face earlier that day, too. Those girls were sure hard to shake, weren't they?
Yeah, they were, the pseudo-treant agreed quietly with an outward nod. He was honestly beginning to believe they'd follow him forev—not forever, but for too long, anyway. That didn't stop the delight twisting inside him.
Wanderlust waited for none, especially not in No-Man's Land. It seemed to favor him, though, and maybe it would show preference for his loved ones, too. Not that it ever had before, but that was just his problem, wasn't it? Excessive hoping.
That was the thing that made it worthwhile.
"First one to the next town over doesn't have to pay for food!" He blurted, and Wolf jumped at the shout—then blinked as the crazy blonde wacko went barreling past him, becoming a dot on the horizon.
Well, then. Time to show what exactly a motorcycle was used for.
A/N: fernweh: (n.) an ache for distant places; the craving for travel. Similar to wanderlust.
tausendsassa: (n.) jack-of-all-trades; a multi-talented person. Fun fact, I got these two weirdly cool terms from the "Otherwordly" blog on Tumblr.
pseudo-treant: I made this up. A treant is a fictional organism having many characteristics of a tree, but with human-like mobility and facial features, and since Vash is a plant (but not a tree, obviously), I figured it might fit.
The title is a play on what Rem said to Vash in his vision, "You'll be an old man in no time!"